“I didn’t know that.”
“Now you do.”
“Were you like Stan?”
“I kept it together a lot better than him. I held this job, most of the time. I supported myself, and I steered clear of the law. But I also did a lot of things I regret.”
“Like what?”
“Like ignored my daughter, for one.”
I turned the coin over in my hand. Dad started calling me a year ago. That’d be six months after he got sober.
“I wish I could change all that,” Dad said. “But I can’t.”
“Would you?” I asked. “If you could do it over again?”
Dad shook his head. “If I could do it over again,” he said, “I’d skip that party where I met your mom.”
I stared out at the road, watching the yellow dashes slide past the windshield wipers one after another.
He wished that I didn’t exist. Then he wouldn’t have to feel guilty that he hadn’t been around. That probably would have been better for Mom, too. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about me when she headed off to have fun.
“Sure,” I said, trying to ignore my tingling tear ducts. “That probably would have been easier on everyone.”
Dad looked at me, shaking his head. “Nah, Ricki,” he said. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant you should have had another father. One who wasn’t too drunk to be around. One who could have given your mother what she needed.”
What did Mom need? Mom always told me she didn’t need a man for good, just to play with now and then, and brush off when she got bored. But what kind of husband had Dad been? Had he hurt her so bad with his drinking that she’d given up on men? I tried to picture what Dad would be like drunk, but I couldn’t. And I didn’t have enough memories of him to remember ever seeing him drink.
“I still don’t see why you couldn’t have been around more. Even if you were drinking.”
Dad sighed. “Seeing her brought back too many memories. Made a mess of me, made me want the liquor even more. I couldn’t take you out and stay sober, and I knew you deserved a better father than that. I just didn’t believe I had it in me.”
Mom and Dad had separated before Mom even knew she was pregnant, and divorced by my first birthday. Surely he could have gotten over it sometime in the last fifteen years. But I thought about Stan, drinking because of his dead kid and his lost wife—because he had an addiction and couldn’t stop.
“And now?” I asked.
Dad stayed quiet, and I thought he was going to cop out of the conversation again.
“Well?” I said.
“Now I think that was bullshit,” Dad said. “I think I could have changed all along, I was just too damn scared.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I did deserve better.”
Dad nodded, eyes glued to the road.
I hated it when people did that—just let you insult them without arguing back. It made me feel guilty, which I probably deserved. A good daughter would have said she was proud of the way he finally decided to change. A good daughter would have been able to forgive him, now that she knew the truth. But I couldn’t help feeling like I’d finally learned for certain the thing I’d been so afraid of all these years: he loved his other life more than me. The fact that the other life was alcohol rather than being a superhero didn’t soften the blow.
Tears burned into my eyes. I leaned toward the window, resting my temple against the glass. If Ian wasn’t full of shit, he’d be waiting for me in Des Moines, thinking I was planning to slip away from Dad and take off to California with him. To find Mom. There were only three D. Longwells in San Diego. If I couldn’t find Denis, I’d send Mom a letter at our old address. And Ian would be with me every step of the way—helping me out in ways that Dad flatly refused to.
But here Dad was, finally telling me the truth. That had to count for something. Still, it had taken him six months to contact me once he was sober, and he hadn’t come to get me until Grandma insisted. He had no other choice. He was stuck with me.
I held my breath, blinking back the tears and watching the yellow line continuing to whiz by. We’d be in Des Moines in a few hours. If Dad cared, he’d follow after me, wouldn’t he? And if he didn’t, well, he could just go back to his regular life, and I could find Mom and get back to mine.
That was a crazy idea, and I knew it. I wanted to be near Ian, but he was also on the run from the law, and if I went with him, I would be too. But if I stayed with Dad, I’d never know if he really wanted me now or if he was just taking care of me because he had to. I closed my eyes to keep the tears from welling out. They pooled in the corners, and I brushed at them with one hand, wiping them away before Dad noticed.
I couldn’t know what I should do until I saw whether or not Ian was really waiting for me. I’d just have to figure it out when we got to Des Moines.
Des Moines, Iowa.
Days since Mom left: 32.
Distance from San Diego, California: 1749.41 miles.
13
We reached Des Moines around one o’clock. Flat, gray clouds stretched across the sky, and fat raindrops pelted the windshield, running in ripples as the wind blew them toward the edges. Dad had been quiet for most of the ride, which was just as well, because I didn’t want to talk to him, either. Dad used an actual map to get to Ian’s sister’s house, since his GPS was still in the truck. As we pulled down her street, I caught sight of our red pickup parked crookedly against the curb.
Dad grinned. “We got him,” he said.
My spine prickled. Had Ian actually stuck around? Did that mean he was hiding somewhere, waiting for me?
“I need you out of the way,” Dad said, “but I know you’re not going to stay in the car.”
My skin tingled. If I got out of the car, I might really run off with Ian. And then what? “I will this time,” I said. “I promise.”
Dad chewed on his cheek. I could tell he was wrestling with wanting to trust me and knowing he couldn’t.
He was right.
I held up my palm. “I will stay in the car. I swear.” Even I was afraid of what I might do if I didn’t.
“All right,” Dad said, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he was giving me another chance or because he didn’t have another good option.
Dad parked two houses away from the truck and got out, taking the keys with him. He trusted me, but not that much.
My heart picked up pace. If Ian really was waiting for me, he’d wait for Dad to go inside and then come get me. But I’d told Dad I’d stay in the car, so I would. That was the smarter thing to do, right?
I didn’t watch as Dad walked up to the house. Ian probably wasn’t here. If he was smart, he’d already run off in some other stolen car and left Dad’s truck behind for us to find. He’d probably just told me he’d wait for me to lead us in the wrong direction.
I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes. I took long breaths, trying to calm down.
The car still smelled of Stan’s body odor and a faint tinge of beer. I opened my eyes, looking up at the sky. The raindrops thinned a bit, and I cracked my window. Better wet than stinky, anyway.
I jumped when I saw Ian’s face grinning at me through the driver’s-side window. I looked back at the house, but Dad was nowhere in sight. Ian reached for the door handle. Dad hadn’t locked his door, probably so he could run back to the car in a hurry if he needed.
Ian opened the door and rested a hand on it. He bent over, leaning into the car.
“Hey,” he said. “You ready for a ride?”
Stay in the car, I told myself. You promised. “You really waited for me?”
“I said I would, didn’t I?” Ian sat down in the driver’s seat. I expected him to beckon me out of the car, but instead he pulled out a key ring full of thin, key-shaped strips of metal. They looked like some kind of child’s toy—too thin to be real keys.
Ian shoved one in the ignition and shook it up and down.
“What is that?” I asked
.
“Auto jigglers,” he said. “Give me a second.”
I looked back toward the house. The door was open, but Dad had disappeared inside.
This couldn’t be happening. I sat totally still in my seat. I’d sworn to Dad I would stay in the car. I just hadn’t expected Ian to steal it with me inside.
Ian pulled the first jiggler out of the lock and inserted another one.
“Where did you get those things?” I asked.
Ian grinned. “Why, you looking to get into the business?” He pulled the second key out and moved on to a third. As he shook it, the ignition popped, and the engine turned over.
“Nice,” Ian said. He revved the engine and threw the car in gear.
This was happening. This was real. I glanced back at the house in time to see Dad running down the front steps.
Ian didn’t wait for me to say anything. He just slammed the door. Hearing the noise, Dad looked up, and his jaw actually dropped. Ian gave him a little wave and then gunned it down the street at top speed.
I watched out the window as Dad raced for the truck, and then Ian skidded around a corner, headed for the highway.
“This is no good,” I said. “He’s totally going to catch us.”
Ian grinned, running a hand through his hair. “He’ll have to find his brake pads first.”
“His brake pads?” I leaned forward in my seat, clasping my knees. “Aren’t those important?”
“Chill out.”
“No, seriously. He could get in an accident.”
Ian shook his head. “Nah. The car will still stop. It’ll just eat into the rotors on the way. Might take him a while to fix.”
That didn’t sound nearly as bad, but I still worried. I’d done exactly what Dad asked me to, but everything still went wrong—like when I’d followed Stan into the bar.
But this was what I wanted, wasn’t it? Now I’d get to see if Dad would really follow—if he’d really worry about me when I wasn’t right there with him.
“You okay?” Ian asked.
“What?”
“You just seem unsure. You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
“No,” I said, even though I was. My nails ran in grooves over the armrest. What if Dad didn’t find us? Could I really track Mom down in San Diego? Suddenly I wasn’t so sure.
“I guess you can add vandalism to your list of crimes,” I said, trying to sound casual.
Ian just laughed. He was driving so fast toward the freeway exit that I was sure a cop would pull us over, but apparently there weren’t any nearby. We broke out onto the freeway, doing eighty up the on-ramp.
“Maybe you should slow down,” I said.
“Hey, what’s the problem?” Ian asked. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?” He gave me a sidelong glance.
The speedometer needle descended down the right side of the dial.
“You know, my dad says this is how stolen cars get found.”
“Huh?”
“Speeding. Dad says cops don’t spend a lot of time looking for stolen cars, so usually they get found when the driver breaks the law.”
Ian looked at the speed gauge and slowed down about ten miles per hour. “Good tip,” he said. “You’re a smart girl. We make a good team.”
“Sure,” I said.
Ian glanced over at my arm, which was still fidgeting with the armrest. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I said quickly. Too quickly.
His lips tightened into a line. “No, you’re not. It’s cool if you’ve changed your mind. You want me to drop you somewhere?”
My heart thudded. “You’d do that?”
“Sure. What? Did you think I was going to hold you for ransom or something?”
“Of course not.”
“Look, if you want, I can drop you off and you can call your dad. The cell phone’s in the truck.”
I leaned back in my seat, trying to relax. I wasn’t stuck here. I could stop and call Dad at any time. I still had his business card in my wallet, but I also had the addresses of those D. Longwells in San Diego. I had choices.
And if we stopped now, I’d never know how far Dad would follow me.
“No,” I said. “Keep driving.”
“All right,” Ian said. “Where to?”
“You’re still going to help me find my mom, right?”
“Sure, if you still want to find her. I’d say good riddance, if I were you.”
“Quit talking me out of it.”
“I just want you to be sure. San Diego’s a big city, you know.”
“I know the name of the guy she’s with. I’ve got some addresses we can try.”
“That’s a start.”
That’s when I thought past the driving part. What if Dad didn’t catch us right away? He’d fall behind if he couldn’t drive the truck. Where were we going to stay on the way? Could we drive straight through to California? What if Mom hadn’t gone to see Denis at all? Was I going to end up living with Ian—like, in an apartment—or sleeping with him in the car?
“Um, do you know anyone in San Diego we can stay with?” I asked. “In case it takes a while to find her?”
Ian laughed. “We’ll meet some people. Don’t worry.”
But I did worry. I’d made a promise to Dad that I’d stay in the car, which I’d done. But we both knew that promise was a promise to stay out of trouble, which was the opposite of what I’d done. Even if Dad did chase me, he might never trust me again. I could end up in foster care. Or juvie. I could end up a skip like Ian.
“Why are you running away, anyway?” I asked. “Don’t all the charges you’re racking up amount to more than you’d get just turning yourself in? The sentence for stealing one car can’t be that bad.”
“Twenty-nine.”
“What?”
“Twenty-nine cars.”
I gaped at him. “Why would you steal twenty-nine cars?”
“You know how much a car is worth?”
“Depends on the car,” I said. “So you were selling them?”
“Didn’t say I was selling them. I was charged with selling them. The cops thought there was this whole crime-ring thing.”
“Well, was there?” I looked out the window at the blur of wet concrete, trying to loosen the knots in my shoulders.
Ian stepped on the gas again. “Screw it,” he said. “If we go that slow, bounty man’ll catch us.”
“Hey, maybe we should get off the road for a while,” I said. The car was speeding us toward California every minute, and if we pulled over for a while, I’d have time to think. If I wanted Dad to find me, I needed to give him the chance.
“You sure? We should probably put more distance between us and the man.”
“Dad says people who make beelines down main highways are supereasy to catch.” Dad never said any such thing, but it seemed like it might be true. “It’d be harder to find us if we pulled off on one of these farm roads for a while and then drove when he doesn’t expect us to be here.”
“All right.” Ian watched for the next side off-ramp and then pulled down a side road. He drove alongside a field, then parked and climbed out of the car. I followed. The sky was still cloudy, but the rain had stopped for the moment, leaving the ground damp. I took a deep breath, taking in the smell of fresh rain and wet dirt, following Ian along the fence that bordered the field.
“Do you think you can see the car from the road?” he asked.
I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t want to walk back to the road to check. “We’re probably safe,” I said.
Ian hopped up onto the fence and swung his legs over, facing the field.
“So what’s your mom doing in San Diego?” he asked.
“I think she’s staying with some guy she met online.”
“So she left you with your dad to chase after this guy?”
“No,” I said. “She left me with my grandma, but Grandma called Dad.”
“Shouldn’t you be in sc
hool or something?”
“Shouldn’t you?”
“Nah,” Ian said. “They weren’t teaching me anything important anyway.”
“Yeah. I guess schools don’t teach you how to steal cars.”
“It’s not like I was planning to do that forever, you know.”
“So you admit to it, then.”
Ian just smiled, looking out at the field. Whatever grew here had already been harvested; all that was left was a piece of rusted watering equipment and row after row of broken soil.
Now that we weren’t in a car, moving ever farther away from Dad, I started to relax.
“What are you going to do next?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Whatever comes along. That’s the beauty of this life. You take the chances that come to you. Maybe I’ll buy a car dealership.” He waved at the field. “Maybe I’ll be a farmer.”
I sincerely doubted Ian had the money to buy a dealership. “You want to be a farmer?”
“Maybe I do and I just don’t know it yet.”
I looked over the field. This was somebody’s life, I guess. “What do you think they were growing?” I asked.
“Maybe weed.”
I laughed. “In a field like this? They’d get caught.”
“You’re right. Probably something boring like radishes, then.”
“You’d grow weed, in your field.”
“Maybe not in a field. Maybe in a closet. I could look into grow lights.” He raised his eyebrows at me, and I tried to decide if he was joking.
Sitting this close, I could see little flecks of green in his eyes, spread outward in tiny spirals. “Thanks for offering to help me find my mom. That’s more than my dad would do.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t sit around waiting for them to get it together. You’ve got to take charge of your life.”
I’d taken charge all right. Taken charge right into the middle of Nowhere, Iowa. “I think I’m bad at it,” I said.
Ian laughed. “Yeah, well, no one’s perfect. Keep trying. You’ll get it right.”
That was ironic, coming from a fugitive. “Have you gotten it right yet?”
“Hell no. But I will. And so will you.”
I still wasn’t convinced that was true, but it was nice of him to say it. “Thanks,” I said.
Chasing the Skip Page 11
